


And The World Rearranges With A Single Word

by struckthunder



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bev/Ben mentioned, Biting, Bottom Eddie Kaspbrak, Caretaking, Dirty Talk, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie calls Richie Baby, Eddie needs that big dick, Everybody Lives, F/M, Fluff, Little Kinky, M/M, Marriage, PTSD, Panic Attack, Past Drug Use, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Whump, Richie has a big dick, Richie has a million and a half nicknames for Eddie, Richie is hairy, Romance, Sickness, Stan/Patty mentioned, Tenderness, Time Hops, Top Richie Toizer, Wedding, award shows, but it gets happier, celebrity!Richie, cocaine reference, fight me, germaphobe!Eddie, in this essay I will, little sad in the beginning, losers in love, proposal, soft kink, stan is alive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:35:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22584154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/struckthunder/pseuds/struckthunder
Summary: Everything would be so much easier if he didn’t love Eddie Kaspbrak. But he does. He loves Eddie Kaspbrak. He always has, in forgotten memories he loves him, in the three seconds of thought between thinking of Eddie Kaspbrak he loves him.So here’s the thing.He’s always going to love Eddie Kaspbrak.A series of I love yous between Richie and Eddie.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 3
Kudos: 39





	And The World Rearranges With A Single Word

“So here’s the thing,” Richie says without looking up. All he can do is stare at the hospital floor and make himself dizzy with the patterns inlaid there. He glances up to see Eddie then right back down, almost feeling ashamed for peeking. This isn’t something he can’t say while looking at him, even if he is unconscious. It’s something he can only say when he knows no one will hear.

Several sterile seconds pass and in them, Richie gathers what is left of his courage. 

“I love you. Yeah, um, I love you,” he laughs but it has no joy. It’s only dust and varnish on his tongue. He’s so stunned that he has actually gotten the words out he doesn’t know what to do next. He checks to make sure Eddie hasn’t woken up (he hasn’t) then fixates on the ground again. And when he can’t get his brain to stop racing he starts talking because that’s what he is good at. It’s what he is really good at. 

“It’s stupid to say it now. To say it when it won’t matter. But, better late than never? I don’t know.” Richie sighs and finally takes his eyes off the floor and leans back in his seat. He looks without looking at the man he loves. 

“ When you get out of here you’ll probably go back to your wife and I’ll go back to LA, alone. And that’s okay. It’s fine. It’s _fine_. Hell, I’ve lived this long without you what’s another few decades? At least I get to remember you this time, to know that the reason why I feel so empty inside is not just the crippling depression. And repression I guess.” He shrugs like Eddie can see him. 

“I get to have a few more good memories of you and the others.” He hates how thin his voice is getting. Hates how his eyes are burning. Hates how much he can feel and how much that _hurts._ “But, you know it’s you, right? You know it’s always been you. It’s always gonna be you.”

He jumps up out of the chair like it was on fire and paces the small hospital room a few times squeezing one arm around his middle and running a hand through his hair, pulling at the roots to ground himself. He feels queasy, like he’s a seasick sailor and just boarded the Titanic, doomed and nauseated and he can’t quite pick which one sucks the most. 

It’s stupid to feel this way like Eddie is going to wake up at any moment and tell him to leave all because he has confessed feelings that he’s shrouded for decades. Taking a few more laps he winds himself down. He takes slow and even breaths that come out shaky at best. He takes his seat at Eddie’s side and can’t help but stare. Eddie’s eyes are closed, his dark lashes are fanned out across pale cheeks. Richie had recently remembered that Eddie had freckles as a kid. Now he can very faintly see them hiding behind years working under indoor lighting. Richie sighs again and changes the subject. 

“I’m not going to bring a date to Bev and Ben’s wedding, because let's be honest we both know they are going to get married. And I’m gonna fly solo. Pretty sure I’m always gonna go stag. It’s not a bad thing. It’s not. It’s not _bad_. It’s just a little...miserable. And I think I can live with being a little miserable if it means I get to at least see you every now and then. Don’t get me wrong it’s gonna hurt like a fucking son of a bitch to see you with someone else, but I’ll get to see you and know that you are okay and happy and alive and living and loving…” Richie forces a deep breath. “This sucks. This really fucking sucks Eds.”

He snags the little paper cup on the side tray that night nurse had brought for him and fills it with room temperature water. He throws it back, pretending it’s whiskey. He balances it on his knee, twisting and spinning, it’s almost like dancing. 

“I think I might tell Bev. Tell her how much I love you and let her take a little of the load, ‘cause it’s a lot. You know? It’s heavy. She’ll know the right thing to say. She’ll tell me to tell you the truth. She will. That’s just who she is. But Eds, I can’t do that. I’m too fucking scared that you will hate me. I’d rather have you as a friend than nothing at all. Is that selfish?” He optimistically waits for an answer. When he doesn’t get one he rallies on. “Probably. But, god, or turtle god, I’m not brave enough to tell you anything. So I’ll keep it on lockdown. I’ll keep it to myself that I’m head over heels in love with you. That I want to tell you every day. That I love you so much that I physically ache with it. I love you even if I can never tell you when you’re awake.”

There are tears in his eyes that he refuses to let fall. If he starts crying that means it’s over. He’s not sure what exactly is over, but the moment the tears gather he knows he’s done for. He looks up at the ceiling and tries to blink them away. It doesn't work. Tears slip down his cheeks and all he can do is wipe them away as quickly as they fall. He clears his throat and looks at the floor, letting the tears splashdown. 

“I’m gonna go.” Richie’s voice is wrecked already. “I’ve got...I’ve got to just not be here when you wake up. I think you’ll hate me for that, but not as much as I’ll hate myself. I’ll come back when one of the Losers calls. I’ll be here with them to tell you what happened under Neibolt street. We’ll all get you back on your feet, then I’ll leave. I’ll give some bullshit excuse like my manager needs me back in LA for a show, or that Netflix called and wants an interview. You know what? No. I’ll make it HBO. Then I’ll leave. And I’ll...I’ll.” 

Richie opens and closes his mouth trying to find the words. For one in his life, the words just aren't there. He grapples with the air and his lungs and all he is rewarded with is a pitiful laugh. 

“I was going to try and _lie_ and say I’ll get over you, but if you were listening at all you’d know _that’s_ not true. I’ll, uh, see you later then. I’ll just let you sleep. I’ll-I-I’m-I’m-I. Listen to me sounding like fucking Big Bill. I’m gonna say it a few more times, and I’m gonna fucking pretend that you can hear me.”

Closing his eyes he imagines a better place. A place where he and all his friends are happy and whole and allowed to be whoever they want. That’s the place he wants to be. Somewhere warm and bright with summer sun kissing their skin and bringing them back to skinned knees and bike rides, to late afternoons by the water, baptizing each other in the Barrens with hands held soft and open. 

That’s where he fell in love. 

“I love you.” He whispers. “I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

He says it like a prayer, meaning it more and more with each word. When he tells himself that that’s enough he settles on covering half his face with his hand, holding everything else back. It all gets loose anyway. 

“This is the part where you wake up and tell me you love me too. And I’ll say it back again. I’ll say I love you too. And then we will be in love.

“And is that too much to ask?”

He goes back to staring at the floor until he can no longer see or hear. Then he stands, puts the chair back where he found it, moves his water cup to the trash, and leaves.

In the hallway he stumbles and comes crashing to the floor, not even throwing out a hand to brace his fall. A nurse hurries over to him grabbing his arm and putting a hand on his chest to steady him. He can’t hear what she is saying. All he can focus on is the floor and the pattern and the way his chest hurts and how fucking _sad_ he is. He wants to forget these feelings. Everything would be so much easier if he didn’t love Eddie Kaspbrak. But he does. He loves Eddie Kaspbrak. He always has, in forgotten memories he loves him, in the three seconds of thought between thinking of Eddie Kaspbrak he loves him. 

So here’s the thing. 

He’s always going to love Eddie Kaspbrak. 

Forever. 

He’ll love him and wait with arms unfolded for an embrace he knows won’t come.


End file.
